Mo Shaol I Do Lámha
by CirsiumVulgare
Summary: Not really a proper plot, just wanted to give these two a happy ending.


He had lost count of how many times he had cheated death. Numerous times in the battlefield, where his body was left covered with scars of hits that should have killed him but for some reason never did. It had made him reckless, sure about his own invincibility, but still he survived no matter what bloody battle he ended up in. Then there was the shipwreck while he was returning home, hands red with all the killing he'd done in the Holy Land, storm that should have killed him and in a way it did, washed away his old life and his old self, granted him with the new, quiet, peaceful life until he walked away from it to follow the relic, or more truthfully, he followed the boy escorting it. The boy, Diarmuid, was the only reason he had his hands in blood again, something he had sworn he would never do again when he had took on his life of silence, but it was a small price to pay for keeping the boy safe. He had walked to his death with the knowledge boy would be alive and on his way to fill his destiny in Rome.

Only it seemed he didn't die this time either.

World went in and out of focus, there was pain, and everything was rocking, and he could hear waves and seagulls and sometimes he heard praying. There were moments when he thought someone was holding him, holding his head on their lap and talking to him, only he couldn't make out the words from the throbbing pain inside his body which made him feel like he was torn apart. There was one moment he remembered clearly later on; Diarmuid, face wet and full of sorrow somewhere above him, and his voice, clear as day, "Don't die. Please, don't die." It would have been easier to let go, leave the agony and horrors, but he didn't want to make the boy cry and decided to live. It was the one thought he hold on to when the pain turned everything black.

:::

He didn't know how long he had been asleep, and when he woke up he didn't know where he was. There was a old woman sitting next to him, and soon as he figured out that if she was sitting then he must be lying, and by the time his foggy head could make out that he was indeed lying in a bed in a corner of a dark, small room, the woman had saw he was awake and went to door and shouted, and then Diarmuid was there, this time face filled with relief and he took that image with him when he dropped off again.

:::

In the following days while the man was slowly recovering Diarmuid told him what had happened. Somehow Diarmuid had managed to persuade the man with a boat to return to the beach to collect him and give them a ride to a convent near by to get help for the man's wounds. By the time Diarmuid had reached the beach rest of Sir Raymond's men had already retreated, having no reason to stay after their leader had died, the artifact they were chasing seemed to be long gone and their enemy lying in the sand dying. Diarmuid hadn't know what to do with the spear inside his belly, so he had left it in during the long ride towards help. It was bit unclear what had happened once they reached the convent and the nuns had taken over; they hand't let Diarmuid in to see what they were doing and the man was glad. The boy had seen enough blood for a life time. After that he had been unconsious, for days the boy said, with high fever and they had been forcing him to drink and kept him clean. Boy said "them", but the man knew it had been him most of the time. The man had seen his belly when one of the nuns came to change the bandage, and the hole where the spear had been in had been burned closed.

Moving hurt like hell, and at first he was too weak to move at all, but once he started to eat the soups he was being fed he was able to sit up, and every day he tried to sit up a bit longer and once he was able to get out of the bed he started to walk short distances around his room with someone supporting him. Sometimes it was one of the nuns but usually it was Diarmuid who didn't seem to want to leave his side. The lad seemed reluctant to attend the masses and other activities which ruled the convent's daily life and much rather spent his time helping the man move around slowly like a feeble old man. He felt like one, with the throbbing pain in his pelvis where Sir Raymond's mace had hit and the fear of something being completely broken inside him beyond repair scared him.

It took some time to get strong enough to leave the room and walk around the building without fear of fainting on the corridors and he still needed to rest often by leaning on the walls. Diarmuid was anxious every time he left his room alone so he started to wait until the lad was able to accompany him. The boy was talking a lot, telling him the daily chores and people living inside the convent's walls. He rarely mentioned what they've been through after they left their own little monastery and the man could tell the boy was still shook from it all. Sometimes Diarmuid's chatter would divert to Brother Ciarán or Brother Cathal and his face would freeze for a moment with sudden pain when remembering their lost, and in those moments the man wanted nothing more than to reach for him but didn't dare to do so. Boy was blessed by God and he himself was a sinner, and if the boy was kind enough to bend down to his levels to help him he was grateful, but he didn't dare to reach someone who was so much above him.

Every day Abbess came to check his wounds and gave him more herbs to ease his pains. She didn't ask him anything, she hardly ever spoke to him except to mention he was healing well, and one time she talked how worried they all had been with the high fever he had developed after they had removed the spear. "You were out for days, burning hot, mumbling things", she said and that's when he learned she knew he could speak, but never questioned why he didn't. He wondered what he had said, or had Diarmuid heard him, or had she or the other nuns told him, but the lad never mentioned anything about it. "It's good to see you healing so well. Brother Diarmuid was so worried during your ilnes, he hardy ate or slept himself while praying by your bedside." The Abbess continued, like the man hadn't already know the boy was too kind for his own good.

The nunnery wasn't large, but it was bigger than the monastery they had in the Kilmannan, a one stone building with few separate huts near by where the regular folks lived. It wasn't a proper village, but it seemed that the people had everything they needed for themselves and for trading. Soon as he was strong enough he started to do chores to repay the troubles of their staying. He wanted to get his strength back, train his muscles to remember what it was to work and move. He had done it several times before after getting wounded, only this time had been worse than anything he had experienced before. He had aches in his bones, his belly felt tight when he moved too fast and he had a slight limp from the damage done to his hip, but slowly he started to feel like his old self again.

With every day like the one before it was easy to loose track of time, moon grew and diminished in the night sky again and again. He wasn't sure how many months they had stayed in the convent but it didn't matter either. He woke up and did the chores with chopping wood and carrying water, dined with the others in a cold stone hall, sat by Diarmuid when ever boy was free from his duties and those moments were always his favorite time of the day. It seemed like the lad had adjusted well in the life inside the safe stone walls, so it supprised him when one day when they were alone in the convent's small garden boy turned to him and said "I wish to leave this place."

He raised his eyebrows, and the boy continued. "I have talked to Abbess how I would like to return to our old monastery now when you are strong enough to travel. She's worried because it's a long way back, and said we should stay here or go to another monastery which is closer by, but I said I would still like to get back home. Only, I'm not sure I want to go there either. But I can't stay here." He looked down then, like he was ashamed to what he was going to say, but said it anyway. "I feel like a fraud being in here. The things I have seen... I... I don't say I have lost my faith, but I feel like I can't hear God in here. The last time I heard him..." He swallowed then and looked up again, straight into man's eyes. "I would like to go and search him, but I don't wish to go without you."

So they left a week later. Abbess gave them food and tools for their journey, wished them God's blessings and then they were off. Diarmuid had said they were going back to Kilmannan, but it was a lie. Neither of them knew where they were going, but Diarmuid was certain God would guide them. They traveled slow, the man still not strong enough to walk whole day and he was constantly worried someone would attac them and he wouldn't be able to protect the boy, but they attracted no attention from anyone when they made their way through quiet forests and waste moors. They had their supplies and they picked up berries, plants and mushrooms while they walked, they slept hunched together in what ever shelter they could find. Occasionally they came across other people, few small huts or a lonely herder. In one village there was a older widower, who let them sleep on shed with her sheeps for a few nights in exchange of fixing her fence and Diarmuid making a herbal compress to her aching ankle. It seemed he had become quite a herbalist during their time in the nunnery. "Brother Ciarán always tried to teach me all he knew about the herbs, and while you were healing I learned lot from the nuns", he said almost shyly, but the man was impressed. Those skills would be useful in life, someone was always willing to pay for medicine. Somehow Diarmuid had managed to get the woman's son's old clothes as part of the exchange, and it was weird to see him without the monk robe. He looked smaller somehow, and younger if possible, and he acted more careful like he had shed his old skin and was learning to be in this new one.

A half later they had left that village they came to the coast again. There was a stream they used to fill their flagons, and near by they found a small abandoned hut, build in a shelter of big rocks. The roof looked okay, there was few holes here and there but nothing too hard to fix as they were surrounded by hay and peat to use. There was one room with a small fireplace which was still usable, but the shed for wood located outside in the corner of the hut had been fallen to the ground almost completely. They left their supplies inside and followed a old but distinct path from the hut down to the beach. It was low tide and they could see all the drift woods in the sand, as well as birds walking near the water searching for food. It had been a gray, wet day, but when they stood there in silence the clouds broke and ray of sun hit the ocean.

"This is what God wanted me to find." Diarmuid said quietly to his companion. They turned to look at each other and smiled.

:::

Like a sign that they had find the right place to stay the sky stayed dry for next two days while the man fixed the roof and Diarmuid cleaned the hut. After the roof was done the man started to build up the little stone shed for the woods Diamuid was picking up from the beach during the low tide. There was some useful things inside the hut, it was clearly been used as a shelter by fishermans or shepherds as they found old fishing net which wasn't too hard to fix, and few wooden cups and other equipment they could use as well. They got their water from the stream and it did widen as a little pool closer to beach where they could wash their clothes and themselves, as Diarmuid was very strict of being clean. The man found a good place where to place the net near where the stream met the ocean and they did catch enough fish to eat and dry, and from the beach they found mussels and seaweed. There were lot of rabbits in the hillsides and the man placed traps for them. He had seen deers too, but had nothing to hunt them with.

They cut hay for bed and they slept side by side, to get the heat from one another, curled under what used to be Diarmuid's monk robe. He had hold the clothe on his hands and looked a little sad, but the nights were getting colder and the small fireplace didn't hold enough heat to keep them warm through the night. "God wouldn't want us to freeze", he had said and used the knife to cut the fabric. The man hoped he wouldn't start to regret it later, getting rid of his old life. Diarmuid had his cross still, but instead of wearing it he had it on the wall, and he used to do a sign of cross in front of it every morning and every evening while saying a little prayer.

The man himself wasn't much of a prayer. He had taken the massive cross tattoo on his back as a boast, being one of the God's warriors fighting for His name in the Holy Land, but he wasn't so sure anymore he was worthy carrying such sign. Killing for God had made him an animal, and it was only his silent life with the monks which had made him more of a human again. He had used to expose himself for God in the beginning of the new day. _Here I am, take me for my sins_. But it never happened and only left him trying to accept his past, remind himself for the penance he had chosen to repent his many sins, knowing no amount of silence and hard work would ever be enough to wash him clean.

But now there were times when he walked on the beach or in the nearby hillsides, when the world was beautiful and peaceful and he felt grateful. Or when he watched Diarmuid on his daily chores, looking more relaxed than the man had ever seen him, or when they shared a meal they had gathered and prepared together, and the lad talked about something he had seen or what he had thought while digging up the mussels. Or in the nights, when they lied side by side under the blanket and it was so dark that the man couldn't see the lad, but could feel his warmth next to him and smell the wind and the ocean from his skin and hair. Those were the moments he said his thanks to God for letting him live.

:::

They had nightmares, both of them. Sometimes the man woke up from Diarmuid trembling and making small scared noises in his sleep, and he would shake the boy awake from what ever horrors he was seeing. And then Diarmuid would curl himself as small as possible and cry, and the man had no choice than wrap his arm around him because it was all he could do to soothe the boy.

Sometimes it was the man who was swallowed in dreams full of blood, surrounded by the faces of peoples he had killed or hurt, the smell of battlefield burning his nose and the sounds of dying raging inside his head. Those times it was Diarmuid who would pull him out, cool hands on his face, pleading him to wake up. When that happened the man remembered the time he was so lost in the need to kill that he had almost killed the boy, and his guts twisted and turned in disgust and horror so he would have to push himself up and out in the dark night to clear his head.

He did often wonder would boy be safer somewhere away from him; but the boy never looked like he was scared of him and being selfish was one of his sins so he knew he could never leave the boy's side unless he was told to.

:::

It was a quiet life but neither of them seemed to be bothered by it. They had their routines but didn't feel too tied to them like it would have been in the monastery; they had their chores regarding picking up the fire woods and food, but if they wanted to have a walk to explore the land surrounding their new home they could do that instead. Some days they walked on the hillsides and Diarmuid picked up plants and mushrooms and talked about them, their names and what they were used for and man tried to memorise his words but there were so many herbs boy knew. "Some of the nuns said the prayer was the best healer," Diarmuid said, "But I think God created all these plants to be used." The walls of their little hut became covered in bunches of dried plants, and Diarmuid used different mixtures in boiling water to make them hot drinks. They even found wild apple trees, with enough fruits for them to eat and dry out for winter.

The man was worried they didn't still have enough to eat during the winter, but Diarmuid never talked about those things or seemed to worry how they would manage. He trusted God and the man trusted Diarmuid's faith.

He showed Diarmuid how to shave the thin patches of hair that slowly appeared on his chin, and they cut each other's hairs when the curls were getting too wild. The lad wanted to keep everything as clean as possible, as he said it would prevent any diseases and parasites, so they kept changing the hay and heather they slept in regularly, and Diarmuid wanted to wash their clothes too every time weather was warm enough. They didn't have much to spare, so they had to switch between clothes they wanted to clean or go naked while they dried. Diarmuid often used the opportunity to wash himself as well and would skip back to their hut skin filled with goosebumps and bundling his wet clothes in his arms, and tried to dry himself and the clothes by the small fire they had going constantly. The man found himself having hard time to drag his eyes away from that sight, and feared the lad would hear the way his heart beat on his chest.

They had walked to the village once to trade some of the dried fish, the rabbit meat and Diarmuid's herbs, and the widower seemed to be impressed by the lads healing skills because she gave them more than they asked for from some herb mixture Diarmud had made just for her. They slept a night in her shed again before returning to their home with some vegetables, breads and small block of cheese Diarmuid was especially pleased with.

"Shame we don't have anything to trade for a sheep or two, imagine things we could do with the milk" Diarmuid said the next day when they were out on the beach again, digging up what ever sea creatures they could find, "or I wouldn't mind getting chickens. I would like to have eggs."

The man looked at him. The lad had a smear of wet sand on his face, his cheeks red from the cold wind and curls in his eyes, but he was glowing and smiling and the man couldn't help but smile too. Before he could stop himself he reached to swipe away the dirt from Diarmuid face, and let his hand rest there against the warm skin. Diarmuid's eyes widened from suprise before he closed them and slightly leaned against the hand. It all lasted only a heartbeat or two before the man removed his hand and turned to stare the sand again, trying to focus on finding the hiding creatures air holes and not to think how good the touch had felt. Diarmuid was quiet for a while, unmoved, until he started to talk about the birds and the sea to fill the silence between them.

During the night they had moved closer to each other, and the man woke up middle of the night finding Diarmuid's back against his chest and his arm somehow being around the lad. He didn't dare to move because he didn't want to wake up the younger man, but suddenly realised from the way he breathed that the boy already was awake. Diarmuid must have felt the tension of his companion's body, because he then felt Diarmuid gently taking hold of his hand and keeping it at it's place. They both relaxed them and slept until morning.

It brought in it's own troubles. Having someone warm pressed against him had caused the man waking up with hardening on his pants, and he untangled himself from around Diarmuid as gently as he could and making a quick escape to outside where could attend the issue.

He didn't know when it was when during the years when Diarmuid had turned from the small boy he wanted to protect to something else. He had been a skinny lad even back then, all bones and huge eyes under his wild curls, silent at first, and scared of the strange newcomer, but curiosity had won and he had started to follow the man around. Then he had started to talk, point out things he saw and later speaking about his thoughts about teachings of the Bible and how them made him feel. And the man had welcomed his company and before he knew it was other way round, it was him who had started to keep an eye of the boy. Little Brother Diarmuid and his silent shadow. But when was the first time he had noticed he couldn't properly breathe when Diarmuid was not by his side, he did not know. He just knew that at some point along the way Diarmuid had become his reason to live.

He had been having his women and sometimes men before and during the crusade, anyone who was willing and for his shame sometimes those who weren't too. But it had been the physical need of his body he had searched the relief for, or surviving one more battle made him want to feel even more alive through sex. He never had the desire to protect and shelter anyone like he did with Diarmuid. The thoughts of the dangers they had been in and how close it had been to lose the boy made his blood run cold. Nothing else mattered than keeping him safe and happy, and seeing the way he had adjusted the life in the beach was joy to watch. Now he was afraid of his own desires, that he would be scaring Diarmuid with the physical reactions his body had around him.

When he returned to the hut Diarmuid was up too and the way he greeted him was nothing different from the way he greeted him every morning. He had already fed more woods to their fire and warmed up water with some of his herbs to shake away the morning coldness from their bodies, and when he handed the cup to the man their fingers touched and the look they shared made the man feel like Diarmuid could easily see into his soul, every though he had, but there was nothing in lad's face what would have indicated he disliked what he saw.

They went on with their daily chores, the man walking to check up his rabbit traps and Diarmuid searching for more wood and changing the hay on their bed. There were two rabbits today, which made Diarmuid pleased, not just for the meat but because he soon would have enough rabbit skins to make a thicker blanket for them. He had already cleaned the older ones and started to sew them together during his spare time.

When the night fell Diarmuid lied himself down on their bed settling under the blanket, and after man had fed few more piece of wood to the fire he couldn't avoid it any longer and took his place next to the boy. Soon as he was there the lad turned his back and shuffled closer, reached blindly for his arm and draped it over himself. The man was almost painfully aware of everything, the smell of the fresh hay mixed with the scent of sea in Diarmuid's hair, the sound of his breathing and lad's skinny frame against his chest. He wasn't able to stop himself from starting to get hard again, and he tried to make more space between them in hopes Diarmuid wouldn't notice but the boy pushed his backside further back and against man's groin. Then he slowly moved their joined hands towards his own crotch, and the man could feel he was getting hard as well.

He didn't know what to do at first; he knew exactly well what he wanted to do but he needed to know what Diarmuid wanted. He wasn't sure how much of the act boy knew, had he ever got curious about the way people found pleasure together or had any of the virtuous monks ever explained him anything. But when the lad placed his hand more firmly over his hardening cock he turned his head a little and whispered "Please." Then he started to make small movements with his hips it was like something larger had taken over, moving his body in a way he knew would make him feel good. The man sneaked his other hand around Diarmuid, to pull him closer against him while he started to move his hand on lad's groin and slowly grind his own hardening against his backside. He buried his nose against Diarmuid's neck while continuing what he was doing with his hand over the material of the pants and after a while the lad wiggled and pushed his pants down half way, to get man's hands on against his bare skin. The man let go of him to pull down his own pants low enough to release himself, and then returned his hand on Diarmuid's groin while his own cock was trapped between their bodies. The boy was panting, releasing small cries and the man kept stroking him while nuzzling his neck, all the while Diarmuid moved his body so the friction was driving the man close to release. In the middle of the storm of emotions inside his head he thought how disgusted the monks would be if they'd saw them now; but the sounds Diarmuid was making and the way his body was arching against him made him wonder how anything so beautiful could be a sin?

The lad let out one last cry and the man felt the liquid dripping over his hand while he too released himself against Diarmuid's back. They stayed there for a while, the man holding Diarmuid as close as he could, feeling his chest moving with each breath when he was slowing his panting back to normal. He didn't know how long this would last and what would happen next, and he wanted to hold on to this moment as long as he could, feel every inch of Diarmuid's body, smell him and taste him because this might be the only time he could. Then Diarmuid twisted his body and the man released his hold, but the boy just turned all the way round and hugged himself close so they were face to face, the warm stickiness from his release pressing against man's belly, where his scar was. In the dark the man could feel the soft touch of lads lips against his own, testing. Then the lips were on him again, more sure this time, and he pressed his owns against them and finally explored the tastes and textures of Diarmuid's mouth when they kept kissing long into the night.

:::

He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep but he must have, because when he slowly opened his eyes the morning light was coming through the holes of the hut door. There was heavy, warm weight by his side and he turned his head to see Diarmuid's curly head on his arm. He couldn't see boy's face from this angle, but the sound of his breath told him that the lad was still sleeping.

He moved as gently as he could and managed to get up without waking his partner. His pants were half way down and he pulled them up before looking at the sleeping boy. Now when he could see Diarmuid's face in the faint light the boy looked peaceful and pure. The man had heard about the angles and he was sure none of them were as beautiful as Diarmuid was.

He fed few piece's of wood into their smoldering fire and watched the flames waking up again, picked up their water bucket by the door and quietly pushed the door open. He stood in front of their hut for a moment, breathing the fresh air. Sky was clear but the air was turning cold. There was still lot to do and supplies to collect for winter, before the storms truly started.

He made his way down to the stream to fill the bucket with fresh water. While doing this simple task he tried to think what had happened and what it would mean, but his thoughts kept returning the warmth of Diarmuid's skin and the taste of his mouth. Sure the lad was young, but had he been any older when he had lied down with a woman for the first time? Diarmuid wasn't a boy anymore, things he had seen and done had made him a man, and surely he was old enough to make up his own mind. Maybe he shouldn't torment himself because of Diarmuid's youth, but for them both being men. He had been lying with men before, but his list of sins was much longer than the boy's was. He shouldn't have done what he did, because his touch would taint Diarmuid's pure soul.

But when he returned to the hut and pushed the door open, Diarmuid was crouched by the fire and he looked up to him, and the light in his face was more bright than the sun outside. "You're back!" Diarmuid stood up and took a step towards him, until stopping awkwardly, like he he didn't know what to do with his hands. "I didn't know where you had gone."

He lifted up the bucket to show the fresh water, and the boy nodded and turned back towards the flames. "I warmed up last of yesterday's stew. And I though we could go see the net after we have eaten." The man looked his back, the way he hold his head, and there was something very vulnerable in that posture. All his resolutions of staying away, tying to avoid Diarmuid until this fever in his blood would ease, was diminished by that sight. He put the bucket on the ground and stepped towards the youngster, pressed his chest against Diarmuid's back and rested his chin on boy's shoulder. He could feel the boy go tense at first, and then relax against him. "I didn't know would you come back. After.. After what I did in the night." Diarmuid said quietly and there was pain inside man's chest from the boy thinking he could abandon him. Didn't he know by now that the man would stay with him until his death? Then the boy turned around and smiled. "We should eat while it's still warm." So they did, and headed to check the net by the water.

Diarmuid didn't talk much after that, but it was pleasant kind of silence. They worked well together, picking up the few fishes caught on their net and laying it back to water again, and when they had their walk back through the sand they picked up any driftwood they saw. Every now and then they looked at each other at the same time and there was shared warmth between their smiles. They had nearly reached the trail back to their hut when Diarmuid stopped and turned back to look at the ocean, and the man stood next to him, awed by the beauty of the day.

"I don't know your name." Diarmuid suddenly said, and when the man glanced at him the boy was looking at him, and he had to turn his eyes on the sand under his feet for a moment. It wasn't a question, but somehow the man felt like there should be an answer. The truth was, he didn't know what the answer would be. After the storm that had washed him into the shores of monastery he felt like his words would be echoes of his old life, the life of blood and horror he had wanted to forget. He had taken the vows of silence to pay at least some of his sins. If he would start speaking now, it might bring back the man he used to be. He didn't want that.

Before he could think how to answer Diarmuid stepped closer closing the cap between them, and pulled the man's head towards him, pressing their foreheads together, looked him under his brow. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I don't need to know your name to know who you are." There was no doubt in Diarmuid's eyes and the man had never felt so forgiven. This boy took his past, sins, aches and nightmares, and accepted him as he was. They stayed like that for a while, and when they finally separated there was new kind of calmness between them.

They returned to their hut and prepared the fish and ate it, and Diarmuid sat near to door and sewed the rabbits skins together until daylight was gone. And when it was too dark to do anything else, they layed themselves down on their bed, face to face this time. They didn't touch each other first, until Diarmuid brought his hand on the man's face and stroked it, and leaned closer to kiss him. Then they were touching each other everywhere, pulling hairs and clothes, and the man sat up to strip of his shirt and pulled Diarmuid's off from him. He leaned over the lad and got on top of him, and their pants were on the way so they got rid of those too, and then they had the full skin on skin contact. Diarmuid hold his face with both hands while moaning when the man slowly grind down on him, both of their cocks trapped between their bodies and getting the friction from their movements. When Diarmuid's body tensed and released he clinged on the man so hard it hurt and the noise he made was the most glorious sound the man had ever heard. He shout out too when his own pleasure followed Diarmuid's, and they stayed like that, hot and sticky, holding on to each other while their breaths slowed down in sync.

:::

Slowly but steadily the winter crept on them. They had their supplies, dried berries, mushrooms, fish and rabbit meat, roots, nuts and seeds Diarmud had been collecting. The beach still offered mussels, cockles and even crabs now and then, and their fishing net and rabbit traps never went completely empty for long times. There wasn't too much to eat, but the man felt hopeful they would make it through the spring.

They had enough firewood and now they had new ways to keep each other warm during the long, dark nights when the wind from the sea shook their little hut. The man had never felt such a joy than he had in the dark, barely able to see Diarmuid in the faint light of their fire but feeling every inch of him instead. They explored each other eagerly, run their hands and mouths on their partners body. It was weird to have known someone many summers, and yet find them somehow new every night.

The man never expected anything from Diarmuid, but wanted to give the boy the pleasure he deserved. Sometimes he still couldn't believe boy wanted him, or felt he had no right to touch him with the same hands he had been using for hurting people for so long. But Diarmuid seemed confident on what he wanted, and the man was in no position to deny anything from him. The boy was innocent but also surprisingly eager, and the man got great joy showing him different ways to get pleasure from someone's body. The first time he used his mouth Diarmuid squirmed and was embarrassed, saying it was dirty, but the man was determined; and soon enough Diarmuid was making all the right noises and afterwards he didn't say a word about dirtiness when he dragged the man on him and kissed him in a way that made him feel like he was God himself. Few nights later it was Diarmuid who got bold enough to try the same and it took all of the man's willpower not to shout out all the praises of the world.

There were definietly worse ways to spend a winter.

And as it turned out, they weren't as alone in the world as they sometimes thought they were. The people started to show up in their hut, one or two at the time, mostly men but sometimes women too, with their offerings to exchange for Diarmuid's herbs. The widower had been so impressed about Diarmuids healing skills that she had been telling about him to other people, and now when the winter had arrived with it's diseases people were in a need of anything that could ease their loved ones. There was a man with sick daughter seeking for medicine, a woman who's sister had burnt herself and who's skin didn't seem to heal, people with cough, pregnancy pain, or aching joints. Diarmuid listened their stories with concentration, and picked up the herbs from his collection with great care. He explained how to use them and offered prayers to go with them. Most of his customers wanted to return to the village for the sickly soon as possible, but sometimes they took on the offer to sleep in their small hut over night before return journey. Those nights the man and Diarmuid kept their distance from one another, and the man wondered did Diarmuid had the same emptiness inside him than he had.

But the things they got in return were plenty; dried venison, vegetables, bread, even flours, eggs Diarmuid had so hoped for. The man could tell Diarmuid felt bad taking those things in exchange because he wanted to give his help for free, but the boy also knew they needed the food to stay healthy themselves.

There were still pains in the man's body. He knew some of his bones had never healed properly from the battle on the beach, and sometimes the aches made him stiff. Diarmuid made him his herbal poultices and massaged where he was most sore, but the man knew that this was what his body would always be like now. Still it was a small price to pay for the life he had now, and he would do it all again if it mean he could have this peace with the man who had his life on his hands.

:::

One night they were lying in their bed, Diarmuid's head on man's chest and his hand trailing over his scars. His fingers brushed over the newest one, followed the edge between healthy skin and where the wound had been burned close. The man could hear him swallow.

"I though you died. I saw you lying in the sand and though you were dead."

The man ran his fingers through Diarmuid's curls and waited. When the boy continued it seemed like he had been holding the words inside him a long time.

"I stood there on the boat and I could see the road in front of me, heading to Waterford, and to Rome. I could hear God's voice telling me to choose. Only it wasn't a choice, because I had to come back, even if you were dead. I had to come back to you. And when I did, and you looked like you were dead I couldn't here God's voice anymore. We put you on a boat and I prayed and prayed that you would live but I couldn't feel God, and I though it was my punishment for not following the path he had chosen for me. But you did live, so maybe he did hear me even if I didn't hear him." He sounded like he was fighting back tears while he spoke, but then he paused to take in a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was stronger, sure. "I would do it all again. Even if it meant angering the God I would do it all again, because I couldn't leave you. And in the end I think this is where God lead me. I have never heard him so clearly than in here, in this beach, when I help all these people. Here, when I'm with you."

Diarmuid turned his head and the man could see the gleam of his eyes in the dark when he looked at him. "You said my name. When you were sick and burning with fever, you said my name. That's the only time I've heard you speak, and I thought it was a sign, that if you live I'll never leave your side again."

There was painful swelling on the man's chest, like his heart was trying to fight it's way out through his damaged ribs. He had known how important the faith was for the boy, even when he did sometimes question the teachings of the Bible. But he had never even thought the difficult choice Diarmuid had made between what he thought his faith was expecting from him and what he wanted himself. Yet Diarmuid made it sound so simple, to choose the man over the glory of Rome. To choose this, him, instead of all the teaching of the church.

And there was the comfort of knowing that one of the last things – if not the last thing – he had said was name of the boy. That during his sickness his spirit had stayed with the boy, and that his name was the prayer that kept him on this earth.

Even if he hadn't sworn for silence he wouldn't have known what to say after that kind of confession and the promise boy offered to him. So instead he pulled Diarmuid's head for a kiss and rolled them over, used his body to say all the the things he couldn't say with his voice.

:::

The worst of winter was behind them and Diarmuid's herbal collection was almost gone for all the visitors they'd been having. But the payment they had received in a form of food had kept them well, and the boy even seemed like he'd got a bit more heavier which the man though was thanks to the venison which was more filling than the rabbit meat. He liked to see how happy and healthy the boy looked. Diarmuid was extremely resourceful and was constantly coming up with new ways to improve their meals or how to make their life more rich. Recently he had been trying to make their own oils from the collection of seeds he had picked up, and following his experiments made the man thankful to be able to share his life with him. And the heat they shared during the nights made him sometimes think he had died on that beach after all and God had granted him this personal heaven.

One day instead of a another visitor seeking for medicine they were approached by the same man who month or two earlier had come to look help for his sick daughter. He came to their hut carrying a small cage with two chicken inside, a small bag or grains. Diarmud tried to say it was too much, but the man insisted, saying it was not just from him, but from the whole village. He didn't even stay for the night but turned and returned where he had came from soon as he's left his gifts. So now they had chickens, who slept inside the hut with them because it was too dangerous to leave them outside during the nights in case there were hungry foxes around. They fed them some grains and leftovers from their own foods, and the warmer the days got the more bugs and sprouts the chicken found themselves. When Diarmuid found their first egg he got excited like a child, and his joy made the man laugh out loud too. It was a wonder how he could have ever thought that glory in Holy Land was something worth fighting for, when in the end it was his lovers happiness which was the greatest reward on earth.

During the first properly warm day they had their walk on the hillside where the forest grew. There was growth everywhere around them, small green leafs in trees, new grass growing from the ground. Diarmuid was delighted when he found signs from some of his herbs. "Look!" There was a small yellow flower growing near the ground and Diarmuid crouched down to have a better look. He stayed there for a while, studying the plant, gently touching it with his fingertips before getting up again. "The spring is really here, praised be," he said while looking up to the man, and he was more beautiful than any other God's creations. They watched the scenery in front of them, down the beach where they could just barely see the roof of their hut peaking behind the protecting rocks. There was a break in the clouds, with some sunlight coloring the distant sand in gold, making the view breathtaking. Diarmuid stroked his hand on man's shoulder. "Come, _mo grá_ , let's get back to home."


End file.
